La Belle Dame Sans Merci
by sleeping-with-ghosts
Summary: "La Belle Dame Sans Merci hath thee in thrall." When classmate Matt Dainard takes a vested interest in Dan's love life, Dan realizes just how quickly even the best-laid plans can go awry. Dan/Blair, Dan/OC. Contains both slash and het.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Greetings! Just a few quick notes before you begin reading. **

**This story (quite often) strays from show canon and I've unwittingly insterspersed it with a a fair amount of book canon (nothing too in-your-face, just Dan's interest in poetry/Keats and a few minor character traits) so I hope that doesn't bother anyone too much - I promise you it wasn't intentional! **

**Although Dan/Blair is listed as a pairing, it is by no means the endgame couple (although it might be) and I've decided that that will remain a mystery up until the very end (although if you'd really like to know, feel free to shoot me a PM or ask me in a review). This story does heavily feature an original character, as well as a slash pairing, so if that's not your cup of tea, this may not be the fic for you.**

**Unfortunately, only the plot (and Matt Dainard) belong to me - everything else is owned by the lovely people who gave us Gossip Girl. The title of the story is from the brilliant poem of the same name by John Keats. **

**Enough of me rambling, I hope you enjoy this, and reviews make me unreasonably happy! *hugs*  
><strong>

It's stupid.

It's stupid and Dan knows that, he effing _knows_, but he can't seem to stop replaying that kiss in his head – the way Blair's tiny hands had fisted in the lapels of his jacket, the way her mouth had gone pliant against his in a way that seemed so _natural _somehow, so practiced, even though it was obviously their first time. That kiss had felt right. When he'd kissed Blair, he felt like things might work for the two of them, like they could put aside their backgrounds and differing worldviews and just _be. _Forget everything and take a chance on what Dan lovingly referred to as Dair in his head.

But, alas, every time Dan is so much as in her general vicinity, he manages to make a complete and utter fool of himself.

Take last night, for example. Serena'd asked him over to help her with her latest English assignment. He didn't actually think she'd been lying – Serena was sweet and bright and could do well if she tried, but English just wasn't her strong point. Not the way it was Dan's, that was for damn sure.

He hadn't wanted to go initially (he wasn't entirely certain that those pesky lingering feelings for Serena had completely disappeared yet and besides, he still had a long and daunting paper to write for Professor Heeley's political science class), but she'd pointed out that it was a Golden Opportunity for him to steal the upper hand from a decidedly smug Blair Waldorf, and so he'd reluctantly given in.

Five hours later, he'd found himself with his face inches from the toilet, his stomach twisting and griping, with Serena's comforting hand on his back, and an amused Blair in the doorway. No, food poisoning had definitely not been part of the plan. Even Serena's repeated insistence that Blair was no stranger to throwing up herself hadn't made him feel better about the whole situation. He'd just blown his one big chance at impressing Blair, not to mention his stomach now hurt like a bitch.

Twenty-three hours later, he's lying on his bed face down (the food poisoning having done its worst), marveling at his shitty luck (no, seriously, it is not _possible _for anyone to have worse fortune than him at this point) and glaring at Jenny's old (and admittedly rather musty) Teletubbies duvet when the doorbell rings. He frowns. The only person he knows who'd show up without calling is…

"Blair?" Dan crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively, not moving out of the way. "What are you doing here?"

Blair's fox-like face breaks into a smile (which is really more of a smirk, Dan can't help but note) and she all but pushes Dan aside before striding purposefully into his apartment. "Don't think I don't know what that little study session with S was _really _about, Captain Obvious." She turns around to face him and her eyes are challenging, her posture casual.

Dan tries to pretend he doesn't know what she's talking about, and in his usual bumbling way, decides that this would be an _excellent _time to start preparations for those pity waffles he'd been fantasizing about earlier. No, this is definitely not a way to avoid eye contact, why would anyone think that? "You're delusional," he says in what he hopes is an offhand tone. This is somewhat offset by the way he slams the plastic breakfast plate on to the counter, and Blair raises a knowing eyebrow.

"Oh, am I?" She walks over to the counter until they are uncomfortably close, and whispers, _right _into his face. "Pot, meet kettle."

Dan takes an involuntary step back, and his back smacks against the hard tile of the kitchen slab. Wincing, he defensively retorts, "Um, excuse me, how am _I _delusional? I'm not the one that drove _two hours out_ to see a person I'm 'not really into' and was 'just using to get over Chuck'."

Blair doesn't look the slightest bit fazed, but her smirk _does _grow a tiny bit wider. "I didn't know you were trying to get over Chuck. Interesting. I don't really know if he's your type, though…"

Dan rolls his eyes and walks around the counter to get to his storage cupboard. "Hilarious. Really. Sidesplitting. And anyway, that's hardly the point."

"Pray tell, Humphrey, what, in your oh-so-expert opinion, would the point be then?" Blair's tone is playful, but there's warning in her flashing eyes.

"The point is that we kissed, and you subsequently admitted that you had no interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with me." Surprised at his own newfound courage, he ploughs on with single-minded determination. "Ergo, you led me on and I no longer have any interest in remaining friends with you." Dan exhales, feeling slightly drained by this unexpected announcement. "And I'm sorry, but seriously, what are you doing here?"

Blair is no longer smirking, just looking at Dan as though she's never really seen him before. "I came to ask if you wanted to walk to class with me, you self-important bastard," she says, grabbing her purse and keys. "Maybe apologize for the things I said earlier. But now that I know how you feel…" She shoots him a tight-lipped little smile. "Forget I said anything. See you in class, Humphrey. Or not."

And Dan just groans, and slides onto a bar stool, because even if he wanted to stop her, what would he say?

* * *

><p>"And so then I was like, no, Serena, if Dan had gone over last Thursday, he would have <em>told <em>me, because we're friends, and dicks over chicks and all that crap. But she was really determined that you did, so I guess I just wanted to clarify, not that it really matters, since I'm not dating her, nor will I ever be if things keep going the way they are, but I'm still kind of… you know, into her, and there's bro code that we're supposed to honor, so…"

Dan snaps out of reverie as Nate tails off, looking at him expectantly. "Um."

Nate folds his arms in front of his chest and stops walking. "Were you listening at _all, _Humphrey?"

Dan too grinds to a halt, trying to look innocent as he hunts around in his subconscious for some snatches of the one-sided conversation he appears to have missed. "Of course, of course, I wouldn't… uh, Serena. And something else about code and…" He stops and looks apologetic. "I'm sorry, man, I'm a bit distracted, what were you saying?"

"You've been acting weird all morning," Nate says, frowning, as he continues their walk to Columbia, and Dan shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. "Anyway, what I was saying before was… Serena called me while I was at Chuck's the other day and told me that you were over the other day. True or false?"

Dan presses his lips together, prepared to confess and explain the reason behind the impromptu lunch date, when he suddenly hears Blair's voice from a few nights ago in his head, and looks up sharply. _That's your problem, Humphrey. That's the reason you'll never have a lasting relationship with anyone in New York – not a romantic one, not a friendship. You're too honest. Sometimes it's necessary to lie. Sometimes you do it to preserve something more important. _

She'd been talking about Serena - this was before Serena had walked in on the two of them talking heatedly in the foyer of the Waldorf house and put two and two together herself – but prior to that, Blair had come up with the most logical explanations for why honesty was _never _the best policy. With Blair, there was always a reason.

"I…" Dan pauses, bites his lip as he takes in Nate's hopeful expression. What should he say? Take his own advice and probably drive a wedge between himself and the best male friend he'd ever had, or take Blair's advice and begin weaving his tangled web of deceit? _Well, _he finally reasons, _if I'm honest, being me has only ever brought me loneliness and despair. Following someone else's advice might actually do me good. _"… Don't know why she'd say that," he finishes, hoping that his tone is convincing enough to put Nate's mind at ease.

Nate's face breaks into an impossibly large smile. "I didn't think you would. I mean, you said I had a chance, and I know how you are about honoring pacts…" He grins at Dan and slaps him on the shoulder. "You're a real buddy, man. You know that, right?"

Dan just winces and forces a smile, as they round the corner and the beautiful statuesque buildings of Columbia come into view. He stares up at them with something akin to wonder, because they're still so beautiful, and he still can't believe that he did enough to be allowed to attend this incredible institution that he's been dreaming about since he was old enough to know what it was. The day he'd received his acceptance had felt like some kind of amazing hallucination, to see those words printed officially on that stiff thick piece of paper…

Nate is immediately distracted by a lacrosse notice right near the entrance, and punches Dan lightly in the shoulder before jogging off to check it out. Dan sighs, watching him go. Lying is never easy, but Nate is more trusting than most Upper East Side kids, and what's more, he trusts _Dan _implicitly, trusts him not to betray him, not to go behind his back and secretly meet the girl he's been obsessed with for months, and yet Dan went ahead and did it anyway. He really hopes Blair is worth it.

* * *

><p>Dan is late to class today. This is really nothing new, because Dan is never on time – he's always scrambling for last night's homework at the last minute, hunting desperately for his other shoe, getting distracted by one Blair Waldorf near the girls' washroom… well, okay, fine, maybe this is the first time. But she just looked so damn <em>desirable, <em>straightening her short preppy little skirt, and combing her fingers through freshly washed chestnut locks almost unconsciously, as she exited the bathroom, presumably to head to her next class. Had she seen him? Had she fuck. Clearly, she had not been keeping one eye out for him the way he had her. _And really_, Dan tells himself, as he stands in the doorway of the hall, waiting for Professor Kelsey to notice him. _This isn't necessarily a bad thing. I mean, I did let her know that I'm not interested in being her friend, let alone anything else last night, so her ignoring me should be a step in the right direction, right?_

_Right?_

But who is he trying to kid? He's wanted Blair for as long as he can remember, though that want has always been overshadowed by his Serena-worship or Vanessa drama. He's wanted her, and he might finally have a chance with her, so why is he continually blowing it?

Except that… except that he'd just told her what they both already knew. A Humphrey/Waldorf friendship can _never _work, and they can't be anything else because Blair isn't willing to give up on her (_absolutely ridiculous, _and if truth be told, rather unhealthy) relationship with Mr. Chuck Bass. So. That's that. And he needs to stop obsessing, because this is never going to work, not in a million years.

Professor Kelsey finally turns, catches sight of him, and immediately stops talking, shooting him an exasperated look. "Really, Humphrey? This is the third time this _week _you have been late for my class, and _I got lost _simply isn't going to cut it anymore."

Dan opens and closes his mouth a few times like some demented fish. He had indeed been about to say just that.

Kelsey rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him. "Honestly, sometimes I wonder why you took the class at all," she says, and although her tone is admonishing, the corners of her mouth are twitching, and in that second, Dan knows that she read previous week's paper. She shoots him a quick not-particularly-threatening glare before waving him in and turning back to the board.

Dan scurries in and takes a seat right at the back of the class, trying to avoid the amused stares of his classmates. Really not the best way to kick off his first month at Columbia, he can't help but think, wanting to kick herself, and is so distracted by his misfortune and embarrassment that Professor Kelsey has to call his names three times before he looks up at her, startled.

"… I'm sorry?" He winces, his cheeks coloring, as the students around him snicker. Professor Kelsey looks most displeased.

"I was asking you about last week's assignment," she tells him. "I particularly enjoyed your take on your favorite poem of the nineteenth century, and was wondering if you would be so kind as to read it out loud to the rest of the class."

Dan just gapes.

"Of course," she says, and annoyance tinges her voice. "If you're too busy, that's perfectly understandable. It's not as though you attend this class to learn or anything, no. This is the break between the other _more challenging _classes, is it not? No need to pay attention here." She seems to be building momentum, and Dan decides that this is probably the best time to cut in and defend his stance.

"No, no, of course not, sorry," he says, fumbling for words, his hands twisting nervously in his lap. "I'm sorry, Professor Kelsey, that's not it at all. I just…" He runs a hand over his face, trying to explain it in a way that will satisfy her and get her off his case. "That paper… it's kind of personal. That last bit," he lowers his voice slightly, though he knows that it is fairly futile, seeing as he is sitting right at the back, the furthest from her at the moment. "About Keats and La Belle Dame Sans Merci… the analogy and the metaphors I used related to, um, another incident or should I say, relationship in my life, and it's…" He shakes his head, unable to offer more. Kelsey's expression softens.

"While I sympathize, the point of a class is the _dissemination of knowledge_, and an English major like yourself should know that that implies that there is a certain amount of give-and-take involved. Here in Literary Criticism, we encourage _sharing, _not just with the teacher, but with the other eager minds in this class that are…"

"Excuse me, Professor? If I may?"

Dan turns his head sharply to fix his gaze on a dark-haired boy with a vaguely haughty expression, sitting casually in the seat next to Dan's with his hand lazily outstretched. His voice is colored by what seems to be an English accent and Dan squints at him, confused at both the interruption and the foreign tonality.

Kelsey turns to him, puzzled, but nods once, a tiny tilt of her great leonine shaggy head.

The brunette smiles, and although Kelsey probably hasn't picked up on it, Dan has spent too much time with Blair not to recognize when someone is being deliberately patronizing. "Actually, you'll find that most _true,_" he smiles again, and here, no one can miss his emphasis on the last word. Professor Kelsey narrows her eyes. "Patrons of English prefer not to share their work unless they are one hundred percent satisfied with the end result. Plagiarism does run rampant in our circles, unfortunately, and I always say better safe than sorry." Professor Kelsey opens her mouth, undoubtedly to dispute this claim, but the raven-haired boy places both elbows on the table and leans forward ever-so-slightly, his eyes sparkling, clearly not in the mood to lose this argument. "I certainly didn't expect to have to share _my _work with a group of fellow budding writers – for me, my writing is intensely personal. I don't share unless I absolutely have to. And, if Daniel here feels the same way, I think you'll find that he is perfectly justified in kindly declining to do so. Just my two cents." He leans back in his seat, clearly uninterested in whatever counter-argument Kelsey will inevitably throw his way.

After spluttering incoherently for a few seconds, Kelsey finally goes with a truly cutting, "And you might be?"

She receives a polite little smile and a slightly arched left eyebrow in response. "Matthew Dainard. Matt. Mattie. Whatever tickles your fancy."

Kelsey presses her lips together, clearly trying to come up with some crushing retort, but she eventually settles for, "Well. Mr. Dainard. I think you will find that in _my _class, we do things _my _way, and I would like Daniel to…"

Matt sighs and lays the pen he had been twirling idly down. "Actually, Professor Kelsey, I think _you _will find that Literary Criticism has been a class at Columbia for over a hundred and fifty hears. And I'm fairly certain that students cannot be forced to expend energy on perfecting their public speaking skills when their real strengths lie in putting pen to paper and _writing _what they feel instead of talking about it. Some of us are just not that way inclined. Myself not included," he adds, almost as an afterthought, and flicks his dark hair out of his eyes.

Dan just sits there, staring with his mouth open, at Kelsey's affronted expression and also at this boy's cool unconcern. However, it has become quite evident that he will not need to share his innermost thoughts with this class of strangers, not if Matt Dainard has anything to say about it. And for that, he can't help but be oddly grateful.

"Right, well," Kelsey eventually says, shaking her head, and looking disconcerted. "I suppose Daniel will ultimately have to make the choice." She fixes him with a hopeful gaze, her eyes pleading. She really doesn't want to lose to this wily minx of a boy, he realizes, but he also really does not want the whole of Literary Criticism to know that Blair has 'cast a spell on him' and that 'her previous lovers gathered around him, shouting words of caution'. He shakes his head firmly.

"Actually, Professor Kelsey, if it's okay, I would really like to give it a miss this time," he says, and the boy on his left examines his fingernails with what Dan privately thinks is suppressed glee.

Kelsey seems to deflate right before her eyes and Dan feels a pang of guilt. Not severe enough to change his mind, not nearly, but enough to make him drop his gaze and feel like a grade-A tool. "That's… well, that's… your decision. I personally felt as though your essay showed both maturity and clarity of thought, and… well, it doesn't matter." She smiles at him, though it seems forced. "Now, anyway. Moving on. Although Mr. Dainard doesn't feel like I should ask any of you to read your papers out loud against your will, there _was _another paper that I thought was beautifully written – not overdone, poignant. Affecting." She begins to rifle through the papers on her desk, and continues with her back turned. "I know that you're all wonderfully talented writers, but I feel like this paper really stood out, really made its mark…"

Dan scribbles distractedly in the margins of his notebook, determinedly not meeting Matt Dainard's eyes. He doesn't know what to say. Had this Dainard boy been sticking up for him? Using him to take the piss out of Kelsey? Trying to alleviate boredom? Either way, he doesn't quite know how to react, so he does what he normally does instead – nothing.

At the front of the class, Kelsey is still gushing about this brilliant paper, gesticulating excitedly with her free hand as she pulls it out of the pile. "And I would just like to congratulate the person behind this little piece of prose for managing to so beautifully capture the mood of Eliot's eerie poem, and that person is…"

There is a long stifling pause, as her smile disappears, and she closes her eyes.

"Matt Dainard."

Dan looks up, to see Kelsey with her fists clenched and her jaw twitching. On his left, Matt says nothing, just continues to smile in a way that _could _be modest, but from what he's seen of this English enigma, probably isn't.

"Well done, Dainard," Kelsey says, unsmiling. "You write very well."

Matt nods his thanks.

Dan thinks the room might explode from sheer awkwardness. He thinks he would probably be able to hear a pin drop in this uncomfortable silence, would hear it loud and clear.

Kelsey seems to lose her nerve at the last moment, and instead of requesting Matt to read what he had written out loud, stuffs it back in the pile hurriedly, clearing her throat loudly a few times as she does.

"… well," she says finally. "I just wanted to draw attention to those two… eloquent pieces of writing before… continuing with the rest of my class. Which I will do so now. Yes. So. Everyone kindly open page 39 of your Golden Lyres."

But Dan has already tuned out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for reading, reviews are love! I'd love to hear from you guys. *hugs***

He catches Serena as he's heading to Creative Writing, and he grabs her arm gently, steering her into a less populated corner. She looks surprised at first, but relaxes and smiles when she catches site of an aggrieved-looking Dan.

"Dan, hi, what's–"

"You told Nate about the other day," he says without preamble, and it's less of a question and more of a statement. She looks instantly guilty.

"I did, yes," she says slowly, and in that moment, Dan is so glad that Serena is Serena and not Blair or Jenny, that she manages to answer a question without games, stories or evasion.

He sighs loudly, running a hand through his disheveled dark hair. "I know how you feel about lies, but he's going to think it was more than it actually was. He already did, until I set the record straight, as a matter of fact. Well, not technically straight, since that was, um, a lie, but I set it so he doesn't think I am a betraying betrayer who betrays." He realizes that he's babbling, and stops. "I just… when you tell Nate about secret meetings that don't actually mean anything, it bothers him because he really likes you and he's not going to go for you unless he's absolutely certain that you no longer have feelings for me. You get me?"

She nods, squinting slightly. "You know, I get that, I do, but wouldn't your life be much easier if you just dropped the pretense and let him know about you and Blair? If he knew how you felt, he wouldn't suspect you of having a thing for me. And then everyone would be happy."

"Not everyone," Dan corrects, looking at the ground. "And besides, there is no me and Blair. We kissed, once. We flirted harmlessly. She… might have showed up at my house this morning. But other than that? It's still just Chuck for her."

Serena takes his hand and says, gently, "And what about you?"

He looks up sharply. "What about me?"

"What do you want?" She asks, stroking his hand. He thinks about getting alarmed at the touching, but then remembers that this is just Serena's way of talking, especially to guys.

"I want… her. I want her, but I don't want her drama. I don't want to be the one she comes crying to when she loses to Chuck, when he fucks her around." He shakes her head. "And I definitely don't want to be her friend."

Serena nods, and her smile is understanding. Sympathetic. "I know how you feel," she says, and laughs her infectious laugh. "Well, not really, since I don't particularly want Blair… sexually, but I know what you mean about her mind games. And her thing with Chuck. No matter what either of them says, it's never really over."

He exhales messily, nodding, knowing only too well what she's talking about. "You're right. You always are. Thanks."

Serena smiles, releases his hand to rub his arm. "It's going to work out for you eventually, and you said it, I _am _always right." She wraps him in a loose hug, before releasing him, and pushing him gently in the direction of his next class. "Now run along before you're late _again._"

* * *

><p>Dan sits at one of the canteen tables after class, trying not to groan. His Creative Writing professor hadn't been nearly as understanding as Kelsey, and her annoyance at him had probably contributed to her giving the entire class ten times more homework than she normally did. Which really is just fucking fantastic, Dan thinks, wanting to bang his head against the table repeatedly. He doesn't think this day can get any worse.<p>

"Congratulations."

Dan looks up so quickly he thinks he might have given himself whiplash, and his eyes fall immediately on one Matt Dainard, all five feet seven inches of him, standing in front of Dan's table with a book and an unreadable expression. Yeah, he takes that back.

Dan blinks. "What?"

Matt slides into the seat across from him without invitation, dumping his books on the table with a surprising amount of finesse. "Oh, just you managing to anger Yates into giving us a fifteen thousand word assignment and three days to do it in."

Dan is about to mumble an apology when he replays Matt's words in his head. "Wait, I'm sorry, us?"

"I'm in your class, Daniel Humphrey. I'm one of your victims." But his voice lacks an edge, and Dan relaxes slightly.

"I didn't see you," he mutters, digging his fork into a piece of lettuce and bringing it to his lips. "But then again, I wasn't exactly paying attention…"

"I noticed," Matt says, and reaches across to swipe one of Dan's painstakingly procured crotons. Dan opens his mouth, but Matt continues talking as if there hasn't been an interruption. "And believe me, I understand. I'd slack off too, if I didn't have to prove myself to the administration…"

Feeling slow, Dan squints at him. "Prove yourself to the…"

Matt gestures at himself, chewing carefully on the croton. "Scholarship student."

"But you…"

"Argue with teachers and make myself disliked like it's my job?" Matt's tone is light, conversational, as he reaches across to snag a piece of garlic bread. Dan doesn't even try and protest, because he has to admit that he's intrigued, and he doesn't want this little chat to end just yet.

"Well, yes," Dan admits, curious. "Isn't that…"

"Stupid and irresponsible?" Matt cuts in, and Dan briefly marvels that the boy hasn't allowed him to finish a single sentence yet. "Probably," he shrugs. "But I need to keep myself entertained somehow." Placing his (well, Dan's) freshly buttered garlic bread on a paper plate in front of him, he frowns. "Columbia doesn't challenge me."

It's Dan's turn to lift a disdainful eyebrow, as he eyes him suspiciously. "Columbia's one of the top universities in, like, the entire world."

Matt nods, rolling his eyes with a sort of practiced weariness. "Seriously, tell me something I don't know. Or haven't heard one million times before, at least. Yes, I'm aware of that, but even the most prestigious college in New York has its pitfalls."

Dan shoots him a questioning stare. Truth be told, he can't think of a single one.

Matt tucks his scarf more securely around his neck. "You really want to know? The faculty consists predominantly of overqualified and yet tired and uninspiring never-beens that have failed in their first-preference careers and need a way to make ends meet. What's that phrase Braithwaite used before he turned into a rock star and changed lives? It was to be a job, not a labor of love. And that right there, Daniel Humphrey, is the problem. When you attend a university like Columbia, you want your money's worth. Or, if you're me, you want to enjoy the fruits of your labor, and trust me, I worked my behind off to get here. Those had better be some delicious fruit."

Dan blinks several times before reaching blindly for his coffee. It is far too early for this conversation.

"In conclusion," Matt says, wiping his mouth gracefully with the back of his hand. "I mess with teachers to amuse myself. Because I know I'll win and because there's not a whole lot they can do. And occasionally, it's for the greater good." He cracks a smile. "To get shmucks like yourself out of trouble."

Dan scowls and takes a sip of his nearly scalding coffee. "I was doing fine before you butted in, you know."

Matt's smile is condescending. "Of course you were. You go right on telling yourself that. And anyway," he says, stretching his legs out in front of him, making himself comfortable. "That's not what I came to talk to you about. I came to ask who this Blair Waldorf is."

At those words, Dan spits out of a mouthful of extremely hot coffee inches away from where Matt's pale hand rests on the wooden table. Matt doesn't even flinch.

"I'm sorry," Dan says, turning a dark shade of violet. "What did you just say?"

"Don't hurt yourself, Humphrey," Matt says, apparently amused by Dan's utter lack of table manners. "Or should I say, great knight?"

"How did you-" Dan manages, and Matt just shrugs.

"I have my ways. Miss Kelsey isn't too careful about what she leaves lying around."

And Dan suddenly isn't surprised that he managed to wangle a full scholarship, this boy could rival _Blair_ in matters of subterfuge. He winces. Thinking about Blair hurts, just a little.

"Sneaky," he says, with feeling. "And anyway, I think you'll find that it's none of your business."

"Maybe not," Matt admits. "But I'll find out anyway. So you might as well tell me now and save me the hassle."

Dan sighs, placing his coffee down. There really is no way to win. "Blair's a girl."

"No, really?" Matt asks, dryly. "I was under the impression that La Belle _Dame _Sans Merci was of the male variety."

Dan has a sudden urge to smack him, and tries desperately to suppress it. "Funny. No, look, Blair is a girl I had a thing for. But… it didn't work."

"Why?"

Dan makes a face. "What do you mean, why? Because… it just didn't. Because sometimes things just don't."

"False. When things don't work out, it's always for a reason, whether that reason is known to you or not. If you and this Blair didn't work out, there has to be an explanation behind it. And I think you know it." Matt's smile is self-satisfied. Dan wants to wipe it off his face. With his fists, preferably.

"Even if I do know it," Dan says, exasperated. "I haven't discussed it with my closest friends, why would I want to confide in a total stranger, who, by the way, has no concept of privacy or personal space?"

"So was it one of her ex-lovers?" Matt asks, pretending Dan hasn't spoken. "The ones that tried to warn you of her devious ways?"

"Not quite," Dan says through gritted teeth. "Seeing as one of her ex-lovers happens to my best friend and the other happens to… well, yes, in a manner of speaking, they do contribute to the many reasons why we can never be together. I suppose you're right."

"I usually am," Matt says, not skipping a beat. "So the ex-lovers continually stand in the way of you and the beautiful woman without mercy. How to overcome this hurdle?"

"There is no hurdle to overcome, jackass," Dan says, feeling more annoyed by the minute. Mostly because this guy, whether he likes it or not, seems to actually be making sense. "My friend's a good guy and everything, but he just… he wouldn't get it. And her and this other guy have so much history, it's damn near impossible to break them up. Not that I'd want to. Because I told her this morning that we were over. Done. Not friends. Not anything else. So whatever you're trying to do will be in vain."

"Nice work," Matt says, and his words drip with sarcasm. "The kind of love Keats talked about in La Belle is crippling and life-altering. The lady in the woods drains you of everything – your happiness, your health, your will to live. When she leaves you, that is. But we don't live in a Keats poem. You," he says, jabbing a finger in Dan's direction. "Create your own destiny. Write your own love story. Make sure La Belle Sans Dame Merci isn't able to strip you of everything you hold dear and turn you into a lonely shell of a man."

"Enough with the theatrics," Dan pleads, his hands held out in supplication. "I thought English was your major. But honestly, I'm starting to think that maybe Drama's the way to go…"

"You're just annoyed because you know I'm right," says Matt, looking infuriatingly smug. "But not to worry. I have nothing to do for the rest of the year. You can be my project, and I can help you make sure that that doesn't happen."

Dan is not impressed.

"You are _certifiably _insane," he tells him, shaking his head. "I don't want to be anyone's project. I am perfectly capable of handling my own life. In fact, I think I've done a pretty good job so far…"

Matt snorts, and Dan looks affronted. "What do you know about me anyway, you insufferable prick?"

"Enough," Matt says, by way of explanation. "And I know that you need someone around to stop you from making a complete and utter mess of the joke that is currently your life. Someone impartial. Brutally honest. Possibly with a 173 IQ. Otherwise known as yours truly."

"Right," Dan says, shaking head at the absurdity of Matt's proposition. "And what do you stand to gain by this sudden inexplicable display of philanthropy? Toward a perfect stranger, no less."

"Reaffirmation that I am _exactly _as smart as I think I am and the satisfaction of a job well done. And boredom mitigation as well, I suppose." Matt tilts his head ever so slightly. "It's a one-time offer. Take it or leave it."

There is a long pause before Dan heaves a long-suffering sigh. "I'll need to see your credentials first, you realize."

Matt's grin is victorious. "I knew you'd give in eventually."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay and thank you for reading! *hugs***

And thus Dan finds himself sitting outside the main doors of the school after his last class, waiting for the unbearably self-assured Matt Dainard to come advise him on his next plan of action. He honestly cannot believe this is his life sometimes. He doesn't even _like _this guy, hell, he doesn't even _know him _and yet, here he is…

Dan hears bounding footsteps behind him and checks his watch. "You're late," he says, without looking up.

"Your watch is fast," Matt responds cheerfully, sliding onto the step beside him, and Dan just shakes his head disbelievingly.

"Okay, so we're both here," Dan says grumpily, resting his elbows on the step behind him. "Start talking, oh wise one."

Twirling his scarf through his fingers, Matt pulls out a leather-bound notebook with Daily Accounts printed on the cover, blushing slightly as he tries to hide the front from Dan's watchful eyes. "I have a game plan, obviously," he says, flipping it open to the last page, where Dan sees a long list written in Matt's nearly unintelligible scrawl, presumably explaining what Matt thinks Dan should be doing.

"Your handwriting is terrible," Dan says, squinting as he tries to decipher what can only be called meaningless scribble. "Seriously, it's worse than mine, and that's saying something."

Matt shoots him a contemptuous look. "Yes, but that's what we've met to discuss. I am so sure."

Dan resists the urge to pout like a two-year-old. "Do you think you could try _not_ being a smart-ass for half an hour? Please?"

"No promises," Matt says, running a finger down the list, as his eyes dance across the page. "Now let's begin. I've made a comprehensive-"

Dan snorts. Matt ploughs on regardless.

"_Comprehensive list _of all the things I know about Miss Blair Waldorf and all the things I gathered about your relationship from my conversation with you earlier, my little detour to Kelsey's office and some between-class espionage." He jabs a finger at the list. "She goes to Columbia. She's your ex-girlfriend's best friend and your best friend's ex-girlfriend. She has a psycho ex named Chuck Bass that somehow got himself into Columbia and often tries to destroy everything she loves. She's rude and snarky and too clever for her own good. She thinks you're a simpleton and hopelessly naïve, and I tend to agree, by the way, but she somehow sees something in you and initiated the kiss that turned you into the pathetic quivering puddle of want that you currently are." He says all this without taking a breath, and Dan just stares at him, dumbfounded.

"How?" Dan finally splutters, and Matt's grin can only be described as coy.

"Never mind, that's irrelevant. Now have I got everything right so far?"

Dan nods mutely. He doesn't know _what _to think.

"Excellent," Matt says briskly, flipping to a fresh page, his tone suddenly businesslike. "Right. Well. Let's get started."

"Started with what, exactly?" Dan asks, his big chocolate eyes blinking slowly. Matt talks so fast and manages to fit so many words with so many different meanings into a single sentence that he's having a hard time keeping up.

Matt fixes Dan with a probing gaze, and Dan feels oddly scrutinized, like he's being judging for not cottoning on quicker. "With getting Blair back, of course. Dear god, Daniel, it's not rocket science we're talking about here."

"That'd probably be a lot less complicated, you're right," Dan mutters under his breath, but nods resignedly at Matt, gesturing for him to go on.

"Okay, so the reasons you won't work are currently… Nathaniel Archibald, though god knows why, since, from the looks of it, he's completely over her _and _has his eye on someone else, someone that he's scared you will swoop in and steal if single. Serena Van der Woodsen, although she knows and is perfectly alright with it, encourages it, even. Chuck Bass, which, if truth be told, is the only legitimate hindrance at the moment, since the other issues are problems that you have really created in your own head and cannot be called problems at all."

Dan scowls at his shoes, fighting down the urge to rip Matt's silly little notebook out of his hands and into the path of an oncoming car.

"And Blair herself, of course, since she has been the main saboteur in your can't-really-be-called-a-relationship thus far. And you," he adds as an afterthought. "Since you inexplicably told her this morning that you want nothing more to do with her."

"I meant that, you know," Dan says, but he doesn't even sound convincing to himself. "My life was a lot… easier before I got involved with her."

Matt waves his hand dismissively, distracting circling things on his Wondrous Page of Absolute Gibberish with a red pen. "Yes, well, if you only did things that were easy, you would still be going to NYU with the other pretentious artsy twats, not to mention dating…" He consults his list quickly. "Vanessa Abrams, Blair's sometimes-enemy and your on-again off-again girlfriend. Which actually brings me to my next question. What's _her_ take on all this Blair stuff?"

Dan shakes his head quickly. "She doesn't know anything about it. And I'd like to keep it that way, please. Vanessa's not always the most reasonable of people and we _just _got our friendship back on track. I don't want to do anything to threaten that, not right now at least."

Matt shrugs. "That's fair, I suppose. Fine, we can leave Vanessa out of our great plan. For now."

Dan glares suspiciously at Matt. "You're being surprisingly reasonable about this. Why?"

Matt crosses his arms, snapping his notebook shut, and looks at him intently. "I might come off as a prickly son of a bitch that doesn't know when to sit down and shut up, but… I _am _trying to help you, believe it or not."

Instantly contrite (although he doesn't really understand why), Dan tries to figure out how to backtrack while still maintaining that he most definitely did _not _sign up for this.

Fortunately, Matt saves him by flipping the page open again and continuing as though there had not been an interruption. "Since Vanessa doesn't go to Columbia, she doesn't need to be dealt with right away. But you _do _need to come clean to Archibald. It'd simplify matters considerably."

Dan sighs theatrically, folding his arms and placing them on his drawn up knees. "While I'm at it, I might as well tell him that I _did, _as a matter of fact, go over to Serena's the other day to make Blair jealous, although that would mean admitting that I lied to his face earlier…"

"Don't complicate things unnecessarily," Matt says firmly, fishing around in his satchel for a highlighter. "Tell him you kissed her. Tell him you might want a romantic relationship with her. Let him know that he's free to date Van der Woodsen."

"That's all well and good," Dan says, his mind racing with possibilities. "But he's also good friends with Chuck Bass, and if Chuck finds out that I might be pursuing Blair… well, let's just say that no one knows how to throw salt in my game quite like he does."

"Minor setback," Matt says dismissively. "Tell him that it is imperative that Chuck remains in the dark about your little dalliance with the Waldorf girl. Tell him it's… vital to the nation's security. I don't know, I'm sure you'll think of something. Besides, if my sources are correct, Archibald isn't exactly the shiniest rock in the garden. He'll be none the wiser."

"Hey," Dan protests weakly. "That's…"

"True, I know," Matt says, and Dan doesn't have the energy to argue. "Right, so once that's out of the way, we have Serena Van der Woodsen to worry about."

"Serena doesn't seem too opposed to me and Blair," Dan supplies. "At least, she's been pretty cool when speaking to me. Her and Blair, on the other hand…"

"Ah, the infamous girl code," Matt says, rolling his eyes. "That's quite an inconvenience, you're right. And from what I've heard, you do _not _want to be the cause of a Waldorf-Van der Woodsen catfight."

"No, you don't," Dan agrees. "So how to prevent this from happening?"

"Easy," Matt says, and his knowing little smile is infuriating. "If Serena finally makes up her mind where Nathaniel is concerned, Blair won't feel strange about dating her ex-boyfriend. And when I say make up her mind, I mean that they should be blissfully _ridiculously _happy, far too in love to be bothered with trivial things like their best friends' love lives. Ergo, that's our next step."

"You can't force two people to be together," Dan says pointedly. "The best kind of love happens on its own, without help from anyone or anything else."

"Oh, don't be naïve," Matt says pityingly. "Sometimes people need that little push to confirm what they already know. Which is where you will come in. You make sure that Nate knows how very over Serena you are and make sure Serena knows that 'Serenate' is a Dan-sanctioned idea. You with me?" Matt extends his hand.

"You terrify me," Dan says matter-of-factly, but reluctantly reaches over to grasp it briefly.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Dan stands outside Nate's apartment, his hand poised to knock, when the door flies open and his fist manages to connect with Nate's face instead.<p>

"Dude, what the fuck-" Nate splutters, bending over to clutch his poor battered nose. Dan hurriedly rushes inside, mumbling apologies and making sure the damn thing isn't broken.

"My bad, man, my bad," he says, bending over to get a closer look, and Nate just glares. "What were you doing waiting by the door anyway?"

Nate finally straightens up, still staring at Dan suspiciously, his left hand still cupping his face. "I was not _waiting _by the door, jackass," he tells him, gingerly poking at his slowly swelling nose. "If you must know, Serena and I had plans, but I'll probably have to cancel, thanks to your clumsiness."

Dan's eyes widen. "With S-Serena?"

Nate walks over to freezer to grab some ice and an old piece of cloth. "Yes, Serena Van der Woodsen. Why, is that a problem?" He removes the ice tray from the fridge and lays it on the counter.

"No, of course not," Dan assures him, probably too quickly, because Nate cocks an eyebrow at him. "Seriously, it's fine. You know what? No, it's not. It's _more _than fine. It's fantastic. It's wonderful news. The best I've heard all day, really," he lowers his voice when he realizes that he's nearly shouting.

Nate looks thoroughly bemused as he presses the homemade ice pack to his nose gently. "What the hell's wrong with you? Did someone lace your mid-morning coffee with crack or something?"

"No," Dan says, looking injured. "And I don't know why you'd think that. All I was doing was expressing my… delight at your…" He trails off, unable to find the words to explain himself, and attempts a winning smile.

Nate doesn't buy it. "Look, if you have something to say, you might as well come out with it," he tells him impatiently, heading toward the door. "But it'll have to be another time, because I think I'll need to show this," he gestures toward his almost-twice-its-normal-size nose. "To the family doctor."

"But… but Serena," Dan says uselessly, following Nate to the door. "What about your plans? You can't cancel now. It'd be rude," he says helpfully, and Nate squints at him, his hands on his hips and as he stands in the doorway.

"Maybe you should accompany me," he suggests. "You're acting really weird. Like, weirder than usual."

"Oh, hardy har har," Dan snaps, and steps out into the hall with him. "Everybody's a comedian today."

"I'm serious! I'm sure erratic behavior's a symptom of… something," Nate calls, walking toward the elevators, and Dan flips him off.

* * *

><p>"The fifteen seconds you spent listening to this message are fifteen seconds of your life you'll never get back. Time is precious, so don't waste mine. Leave a message at the beep! Or, you know, don't."<p>

_Beep._

"Matthew Dainard, you asshole, your little Machiavellian scheme failed, failed fucking _miserably, _and my best friend is now in the hospital with what looks like a broken nose and it's entirely my fault. Oh, and did I mention he now thinks I'm still into Serena? Because he does. He also thinks I'm on crack, but that's a whole different story. Yeah, as you can imagine, things didn't go _exactly _as planned. I effed up and we need to fix it, stat. Wherever you are, call me. And while you're at it, change your stupid answering machine message," Dan growls, snapping his phone shut and tossing it into his bag.

* * *

><p>And somehow, when Matt doesn't call him back immediately, Dan finds himself standing outside the door of one Serena Van der Woodsen, his finger on the doorbell (yeah, there's no way on god's green earth he's trying his hand at knocking again today, not with his luck), knowing full well that Matt will disapprove, but doing it anyway. Some misplaced sense of rebellion, maybe. Either way, Serena answers right away, and beams when she catches sight of a ruffled-looking Dan.<p>

"Dan, I didn't expect you today!" She flings both her arms around his neck and he staggers backward, surprised. "You should've called ahead of time and told me you were coming." She pouts, releasing him, but still standing uncomfortably close. "Nate's picking me up in…" She twists Dan's hand around so she can check the time on his watch. "Well, he should've been here already." Her eyebrows knit together worriedly.

"And he would've been," Dan finds himself saying. "He was really excited and everything… until I came over and punched him in the face."

Serena's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.

"Oh god, I just heard that you heard and this is _not _how I meant it," he says quickly, inwardly kicking himself. "I was trying to… it was a total accident… okay, look, never mind, how it happened is inconsequential. The point is that it's my fault he wasn't here on time and, um-"

"Oh Dan," Serena grabs him in another bone-crushing hug and he utters a low groan of protest that goes unheard. "You're so sweet. Did you seriously come all the way down here just to let me know that?" Her long silky blonde tickles his nose and he fights down an urge to sneeze.

"Actually," he begins, but stops. He doesn't quite know _why _he ended up here of all places, so how can he explain it to Serena? Answer: he can't. "Yes. Yes, that… is why I am here. At your house. To tell you that Nate can't make it, although he really wanted to-"

"And I love you for it," Serena says, her smile impossibly wide. Her hand still rests on his shoulder and Dan gulps. "In fact, now that you're here and you've driven all this way, you might as well come in and eat some scones. Oh wait," she says, and grins fondly at him when he opens his mouth to decline. "Scones are far too highbrow for you Columbia poet types. Black coffee, no sugar?"

Alas, much as he might want to, it is an offer he cannot refuse. Forcing a smile, he nods once, before following her into the house.

Dan has barely sat down when his phone buzzes insistently, and Serena shoots him a questioning stare before going to place her coffee and scones order in the kitchen. Frowning, he reaches into his bag and pulls the irksome thing out of his pocket. He groans audibly when he sees the newly saved contact's name flash on the tiny screen. Of fucking _course._

**-Daniel. My apologies for not contacting you sooner. I was… otherwise occupied. Where are you now?**

Dan snorts, feeling annoyed. Here he is, making a mess of his life, while little Mister I Know What's Best gets a different kind of action elsewhere. It so figures.

**-S's place, loser. Wasn't aware that getting laid was part of the job description.**

Seconds later, he receives the prickly reply.

** -Leave NOW. Who said you could make decisions on your own? You know where that got you last time. And PS. I was NOT 'getting laid'. Jeez, Dan, be more crude, why don't you?**

But then Serena walks back in and Dan hurriedly snaps his phone shut, stuffing it into his pocket. He plasters a cheerful grin on his face and strips off his glove to accept the coffee from her outstretched hand. "That was quick," he remarks, blowing gently on the steaming hot liquid.

She shrugs, going to sit across him on the arm of her olive green sofa. "Mildred knows your coffee order by now," she says simply, and the atmosphere of the room suddenly takes a turn for the awkward.

"Right," he mumbles, taking a sip and nearly burning his tongue.

Serena nods, taking a distracted bite of the scone in her hand. "So. Um. Are you… enjoying your classes?"

Dan heaves a sigh of relief, placing his cup on the triangular coffee table next to the armchair he is currently occupying. A neutral topic. "They're…" But before he has a chance to form an answer to her question, his phone beeps for the sixth time since she returned and Dan groans, knowing that he can no longer ignore it. Holding his hand up in the universal 'one second' sign, he plunges his hand into his pocket to retrieve it.

Once he does, however, he immediately wishes he hadn't.

**-doc says everything fine so you can stop ur worryin. at serenas place now but dinner tonite?**

And it's not Matt, although there are a slew of irate texts from him right below it. No, it's Nate and he's _here._

"Fuck," he breathes, and Serena looks alarmed.

"Is everything okay?" There's a noticeable crease between her eyebrows.

"Yes… no," Dan fumbles, grabbing his bag and standing. "No, they're really very not okay, Nate is either very close or already here and I have to get out of here _right the fuck now._"

Serena springs into action, seeming to comprehend the urgency of the situation immediately, and follows Dan to the door. But before they have managed to cross the distance to it, there's a sharp knock at the door, and they exchange alarmed glances.

"One second!" Serena calls, her voice shaking, and she wordlessly gestures at the large wooden cabinet. When Dan looks mystified, she sighs, grabs him by the collar and all but drags him toward it. "Get behind it," she mouths, and Dan looks at her like she's crazy. Firstly, cobwebs. Hundreds of them. And secondly, a _five year old_ wouldn't fit in the space between the mahogany dresser and the (apparently freshly painted, if the smell is any indication) lavender wall, much less a fully grown one-a hundred and forty pound nineteen-year-old. She must be crazy.

"Just do it," she says exasperatedly, shoving him lightly, as she prances off to answer the door. Dan hastily squeezes himself into the tiny space, feeling more claustrophobic and uncomfortable than he has in several years. It's a very very tight fit.

Fifteen minutes later, Dan is still stuck in the four inches of space he had so unceremoniously been thrust into, and he's _tired. _Not to mention bored and he kind of needs to pee.

And Serena and Nate just will not seem to stop talking. Well, in all fairness, he admits, Serena'd made a few unsuccessful attempts to abort the conversation when Nate had first walked in, but now? She seems to have forgotten that she left Dan here a quarter of an hour ago, and is happily chatting about how Blair thinks she might leave Paris a day early to celebrate New Year with her friends.

And okay, you'd think that this would be interesting to Dan, considering his infatuation with the person being discussed, but Dan _knows _all this. When he and Blair had hung out, she'd talked candidly about these kinds of things – she'd trusted him seemingly more than her best friend and he'd lapped it all up delightedly, thrilled that he had this position in her life. But now, he thinks, rather bitterly, it's become apparent that he'd had no such thing. Like most-self absorbed people, Blair just needs a ear to talk into, a hand to hold when things don't go her way.

And Dan is busy musing and feeling resentful when he hears Serena's deliberately raised voice exclaim, "I guess we'd better hurry if we want to catch the five o'clock show! We don't want to miss the beginning," and hears Nate's rather puzzled voice murmur his assent. He sighs, allowing himself to breathe.

But alas, his relief is short-lived, for the footsteps are nearing the door when one pair suddenly stops in its tracks and he hears Serena's sharp intake of breath. "That's…"

And then he doesn't hear anything for a few seconds, until…

"That cup. You don't drink coffee," The words are spoken quietly Too quietly. Dan can practically hear Serena mentally floundering for some plausible excuse to explain it all away, but this doesn't seem to work out too well, since all Dan can hear is the deafening sound of Nate's unspoken accusation.

"It's black coffee," Nate remarks, his voice still oddly soft, and Dan assumes that he's bending over to get a closer look, and can just picture Serena's panicked face behind him. "No one in your family drinks black coffee. The only person I know that takes it like this is…"

Dan winces. Closes his eyes.

"Fine, yes, okay, Dan was here," Serena blurts. "He was here and he drank coffee and he didn't tell you because… because I asked him not to."

_What?_

"What?" Nate appears to be having a similar reaction.

"Yeah," says Serena, and Dan can hear her heels clacking against the linoleum floor as she paces. "I asked him not to because… because I wanted his help."

"With what?" Nate's voice is guarded, and there's an accusatory edge.

"With you," Serena says, after a few seconds. "He knows… he knows how much I like you and hopefully vice versa and he wanted… to help me. He… well, I mean. That's all there is to it." Although her words are halting and hesitantly spoken, Dan finally sees why Serena once considered acting as a career option.

Nate doesn't speak immediately, but when he does, he sounds marginally more relaxed and much less suspicious. "That's… really sweet. I just don't understand why he wouldn't tell me. We talked _explicitly _about this and he told me repeatedly that he'd be honest with me where it concerned you. It just-"

"This morning?" Serena says quickly. "Well, he stuck to that then, because this happened yesterday."

_Seriously, what?_

Dan can hear the frown as Nate talks. "Wait, so this is what you were telling me earlier? The thing he denied?"

"Yes," Serena says, and when Dan peeks around the cabinet, he sees her nodding her head vigorously. "It was before your discussion but after I begged him to keep it a secret."

Nate looks even more perplexed than before (although far less hurt) and he scratches his cheek distractedly, eyes darting around as he considers the story he has just been fed. Serena's hands twist nervously as she watches him, and Dan holds his breath, because he really never thought that this situation might turn out to be salvageable after all.

"Okay," Nate finally says, dropping his arms, and shooting the statuesque blond a tiny smile. "Although I still don't see why this coffee cup was left her the entire night…"

"I'll talk to Mildred," Serena says right away. "She's been so distracted lately…"

And then, while Dan repeatedly thanks his lucky stars, Nate and Serena exit the apartment, chatting about what a burden it is to have inefficient staff, the incident seemingly forgotten.

And then, of course, since this is Dan, while trying to surreptitiously make his way down the winding stairs, he somehow finds himself face-to-face with a very wound up Blair Waldorf.

"H-" He begins, wondering why Blair hadn't just taken the elevator like she normally did. She'd always said that people who used staircases were hopelessly plebeian, so why hadn't she taken her own advice?

"Humphrey," she barks, and tries to push past him, knocking him in the gut with her ridiculously heavy Louis Vuitton clasp. Still reeling slightly from the unexpected blow, Dan grabs her arm to stop her, and instantly regrets it when she whips around, staring daggers at him.

"Um, hi," Dan says uncomfortably, resisting the urge to take a step backward.

Blair's mouth twists into a grimace, and for a second Dan thinks she might hit him again, but instead she responds with a terse, "Hi."

Buoyed by the not-brush off, Dan bites his lip and tries to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. "About this morning…"

"Water under the bridge," she says abruptly. "Anything else?"

Thrown, he shakes his head, and she begins walking.

"Blair?" Dan suddenly blurts out, immediately regretting it, and she stops in her tracks. Turns around, her fists clenched almost imperceptibly.

"Please… please don't tell Nate about this," he says in a rush, and a gradual dawning look of comprehension settles over her pixie-like features.

"I should've known you couldn't stay away from her," she says, shaking her head, and there is evident hurt in her big dark eyes. "Your secret's safe with me."

And this time, when she storms away, he doesn't try and stop her.

**Reviews are adored! XD**


End file.
